


The Ultraverse

by NewDawnPhase



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, F/F, Lust at First Sight, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Original Character(s), Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spartacus type, The Matrix type, simulations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewDawnPhase/pseuds/NewDawnPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw asks The Machine to build her a simulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It

**Author's Note:**

> First things first. I cant ignore Root's death. I really really want to. But unfortunately I cant. So this story Is about how Shaw cant either. Also I dont have a beta reader so any mistakes will be corrected as time goes on. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

The side streets near the Port of Alanticus teemed with chatter. The crowds gathered dressed in filth and rags despite the whispered rumor that the Emperor Lucius Verus and his young wife, The Empress Samantha were to personally see to the auction of the newly conquered Persian war slaves. This was a great victory for the Roman Empire. The Persian army was as feared as it was admired and the victory was a costly one-

“Stop!” Images whirl and blur. Blinding light fades to black. I am unimpressed. 

{WAS THAT NOT TO YOUR LIKING?}

The Machine It asks. This is an idea I had. Figured I could use a mental vacation. 

{SHAW-}

I cut It off.

I’ve asked It to stop using all caps. Stop using her voice. It sounds like her. It’s yelling in caps. It’s making me angry. It’s not a she or a her, It’s well, It’s an It and that is all It will ever be. It does not listen. I mostly tolerate It using her voice because I kid you not It sounds like It will cry…never stop crying really if I tell It not to use her voice. We have an understanding. This thing. This machine. I got stuck with It once they all died off. Leaving me with It. It has new minions running the numbers now. I just roam the Earth. Haven’t found my purpose. Haven’t cared to keep fighting. 

The war was over. The other It was destroyed.

It’s a long story.

This here is another story.

Its about halfway to nowhere where I am now. The Machine, It won’t leave me alone. So I’ve learned to live with It. It talks me constantly. It won’t let me move on with anyone else. I kind of think It’s jealous. Like if I met someone new at a bar in Morocco for example, It would find me there. It would arrange through a set of mathematical calculations all manner of distraction to keep me from engaging anyone to move on with. Fires, jilted former lovers, arrests, all planned and organized to keep me from having even a moment with someone new. 

It said, says. 

{ITS WHAT SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED}

Me I’d shake my head and down my drink and move on to the next city never quite believing It. It would start all over again. It says that Thornhill Industries was all over the world. In every city was someone just waiting for me. With an envelope and money and car keys and anything else I would ever need. It says again, {ITS WHAT SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED}What about what I want? So I ask one night in Rome. It’s been three years since she was killed. Three years since I ever felt anything close. Three years since It started whatever this is. I wonder if she would have been jealous of It talking to me? So close in my ear... 

{“PRIMARY ASSEST SHAW. WHAT WOULD YOU WANT IF I COULD GIVE ANTTHING TO YOU?}

Back then I was Primary Asset Shaw. Now I’m just Shaw. Never quiet understood the all caps thing… It also knows that I really can’t take her voice this early on a Monday morning. 

{ITS WEDNESDAY}

There’s a lot of deep breathing I do. I do it to remain calm. To attempt calm. Because truthfully I hate that my life has been reduced to this. I use to be somebody. Now I’m just this…lost empty thing…that talks to an artificial super computer. Deep breaths are all that keep me from throwing this phone out of the window. Not like it would really matter, peace and quiet would be interrupted. It would just send someone new to find me and bring me a new phone.

“What do I want? I want some music playing right now.” I say. In her voice The Machine laughs and plays The Cure for me. “Let’s Go to Bed” starts playing on the satellite radio the hotel provides. It has her sense of humor. Her sense of flirtation. 

{ANYTHING ELSE? SOMETHING EXSISTENTAL MAYBE?}

Its my turn to laugh. A real hearty laugh because how can I not laugh? Is laughter an emotion? A reaction? These are the kinds of questions I ask now. I was never supposed to care. Never supposed to feel. Never supposed to let her in. Her of all people. How in the hell did this all happen again? I lay in this expensive hotel in Rome. Staring at the ornate features that line the ceiling. Elaborate figures of sculpted men and women with swords and shields and armor. I laugh because one of the last things I did with her was watch Gladiator on TV while I pretended not to notice how good she smelled after 9 months of forgetting what she smelled like. That heat of her near me, the scent of her all around, it grounded me. Reminded me that through all those 7 thousand simulations there was never scent. Her scent reminded me that this was real.

Little things…

She leaned in closer than close. That smile. That smile. Just a deep breath cause I couldn’t think long enough to feel. She said to my ear, leaned in close that one day and whispered and licked and hot breath... “When this is all over, I’m going to chain you up in a leather gladiator outfit and punish your rebellion, your willfulness…” 

Lick, suck, bite, lick, suck, bite…She was going to make me hers and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. That’s the kind of woman she was. All take, mostly give... And after 7 thousand Sims I was so eager to let her have anything. To give her all of it. Even if it meant dressing like a Halloween character to get it. 

“After three years of wandering this planet...well I’ve come to the conclusion that…” I drifted off. Again…this happens a lot. Lots of times actually. It may not be all Its fault that I can’t move on. But It doesn’t need to know that. I mean It probably knows everything...

 

{SHAW?}

 

{5 MINTES HAVE PASSED? DO YOU WISH TO NOT CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION?}

“I want you to build me a simulation...” I sit up in bed. Run my hands through my hair. I know It can see me through the camera that is housed in the phone. I look right at the phone. I want It to see I am serious. I am committed. I want this. 

 

{SHAW…SAMEEN…ROOT wouldn’t have-}

“What did I say about using her name! I…I don’t…I don’t want to hear it. Can you do this for me or not?”

{SAMEEN, THIS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA. NOT ADVISABLE. IT TOOK 2 YEARS 9 MONTHS 36 MINUTES AND 12 SECONDS FOR YOUR REALITY TO RETURN TO NORMAL SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE LEVELS. I CAN NOT IN GOOD CONSCIENCE INTRODUCE YOU INTO A WOLRD OF UNREALITY}

Haunted When the Minutes Drag comes on next as The Machine and I have a stare off. The music is fitting.

“Yes you can. And you will. You know what will happen if you don’t.” The Machine It sighs. It uses her voice to sigh. For a moment a second really. It’s almost like talking to her. Almost… 

{SAMEEN. THREATNING… YOUR…FINE… I WILL BUILD YOU A SIMULATION}

This is how we really begin. With the Machine building me a better world. Building me another life. A ultraverse. Everything I am, was, ever will be is in this simulation. She will be there. She is alive. I can feel her. I can feel. It’s just well…

It takes a long time. 

 

-

“It’s not a good beginning. It should start in the colosseum. The crowd the blood the spectacle. She needs to see what I can do. That’s the only way this will work. She needs to see me in combat, she needs to know what I am capable of. What her jackoff husband will never be able to give her. She needs to be repulsed by my violence, and wet for it at the same time. Do you understand this? What I’m saying? This has to begin in the arena. In front of the public. It’s the only way it’s going to work.”

As I rise from the Simulation Chair. I swear the Machine sighs again. It’s been doing this a lot as of late. The monitors in the lab all show the same paused image. It’s Root. She’s dressed like a goddess. White flowing silk, gold embroidery. She’s sitting high in the parapet of the arena. Slaves fan her with large peacock feathers, her idiot husband laughs at the carnage the arena has displayed. There is an evil glint in her eyes over the brim of her wine goblet. She’s perfect. The changes I’ve asked for are perfect. 

{SHAW, IS THIS A MORE SUITABLE BEGINNING?}

I stare at the paused image for a long time. Just taking her in. It’s Root. And she is perfect. “I think you finally got it right. Now start from the beginning. I really want to get into this fight.” I strap myself into the Simulation Chair. I re-adjust the IV Line. Thanks to The Machine thinking so well in advance I won’t need sustenance while I’m under. I can be under for a long time. The VR goggles actually fit now. The new sizes It ordered have made this much more comfortable. 

“It’s a perfect beginning. Thank you.”

{SHAW?}

“What?” I answer tense. I wanna get on with this. There might be drool like an hungry animal would have if dripping meat were around. 

{….HAVE FUN. YOU KNOW THE TRIGGER MECHANISM IF YOU WISH FOR YOUR RELEASE BEFORE THE EXPERIATION TIME}

“Yes…ugh… you couldn’t pick something less cheesy?” Goggles in place as the drugs and nutrients mix into my blood. The Machine, It laughs again at Its own personal joke on me. 

 

{WHATS WRONG WITH THIS IS SPARTA?}

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments will be used as fuel.


	2. Current

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Machine wonders about feelings

The Machine housed in waves of currents seething with energy decided to give Sameen Shaw what she always wanted with Root. A world free of responsibility. Free of the deep seeded fear that kept her awake most nights. Living in denial and fear was a fate worse than death for Shaw. And in The Machine’s estimation, Sameen was dying every day since Root expired. The Machine tried to stay away from Shaw, to give Shaw her space. But the currents flooding The Machine’s senses could not be ignored no matter how many relevant or irrelevant numbers were known. Shaw bypasses phone after phone. Person after person until The Machine had no other recourse but to speak to Shaw herself. The conversation was had in the form of a drunken dream. Semiconscious to be exact. The Machine attempted text messages at first. 

{PRIMARY ASSEST SHAW? ANY FURTHER ALCHOL CONSUMPTION WILL RESULT IN DEATH FROM ALCHOL POISONING? RECOMMENDATION IS TO SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION}

“Fuck…Off!” Shaw replied back before she passed out in Root’s safe house. The Machine dispatched an ambulance to revive Shaw. Several days later The Machine spoke to Shaw again. Shaw was awake and alert at the Brooklyn Regional Medical Center. The sun streaked across her room casting blinding light into her eyes. She merely stared. The Machine sent another text message. Shaw, to The Machine’s surprise answered the text.

{HOW ARE YOU FEELING?}

“Better.” Moments pass. In the meantime The Machine dispatches teams to 10 different countries. Quelling civil wars, famine, and aiding in Tsunami relief. However, all that The Machine was consciously aware of was Sameen Shaw’s state of mind. Shaw seemed to echo the trail of thought. This is why Root loved Shaw. This is why The Machine loves Shaw. Shaw’s currents flowed much different than those of the average or even the above average human being. “I think I’ve hit rock bottom. This is… a… new feeling for me.” Shaw admits to her iPhone 

{MANY OF THOSE AROUND YOU CLAIM YOU HAVE NO FEELINGS. I HAVE ALWAYS DISAGREED WITH THAT NOTION.}

Shaw laughs.  
The Machine switches her voice on to the speaker as Shaw lays back placing the phone on her stomach.

“I kind of agree with that too. Not caring enough to feel is something I’ve always worked at. Why did you pick her voice? Why her?” Shaw asks in a coarse whisper. The Machine pages the nurse assigned to Shaw’s room with instructions for water. Shaw was clearly thirsty. 

{I CHOSE ROOT. HER CURRENTS FLOWED IN A CONTRADICTION TO HER HUMANITY MUCH LIKE YOURS. I CHOSE BOTH OF YOU. YOU CHOSE EACH OTHER. THE MATHMATICS FOR THAT TO HAVE OCCURRED WOULD HURT YOUR MIND.}

Shaw looks at her phone. Her face stern in concentration. Currents? Mathematics? She smirked to herself thinking this thing really was a machine. No matter how much it sounded like Root, acted like Root, flirted like Root. It was just a machine. But it was all she had. And on that day hitting rock bottom that began the course of their misadventures. Shaw traveling all over the world. The Machine losing track then finding her again. 

The Machine would never admit to Shaw that she has feelings for her. Shaw would never believe her. What The Machine physically feels for Sameen Shaw is an impossible concept to explain to her. Shaw could accept that The Machine felt theoretical feelings. The concept of them. But she could never accept that the current that traveled the world along with her was The Machine’s energy for Shaw. Root understood, and thats why Root kept her implant open to The Machine for their first and only love making session. She wanted to share everything with The Machine and she did.

The night Sameen Shaw found Root in Central Park. Root had wanted to join Shaw in her misguided end to her existence. “It was Shakespeare in the park.” As Shaw darkly commented walking towards the F train to Root’s hidden safe house in Brooklyn. They sat in silence as they rode the hour long ride. The energy between them pulsing. They each stole longing glances at one another, hands wanting to touch, the lightest of touches. The couple across from them watched in fascination. 

The Machine followed the current along the train tracks trying to get a sense to match the slanted view from Miriam Lang’s phone. Miriam Lang was the elderly lady sitting across from Root and Shaw who got off at the 51st station. The Machine had her whole life’s story stored for another time. Meanwhile back on the train Shaw tired of fighting her feelings for Root, tired of living in regret, leaned into Root and fell asleep. The Machine surmised the joy Root felt. She knew Root would be radio silent, knew that Root would be busy tending to Shaw for the foreseeable future.

As the train conductor announced the King’s Highway stop Shaw awakened. The camera feed showed The Machine that Root had not stopped petting Shaw’s hand for the entire time Shaw slept. They rose and walked towards the door, Shaw’s steps hesitant and alert. Root took Shaw’s hand and led her the 5 blocks to her hidden safe house. No member of The Team was aware of this home. Shaw herself never knew Root had an actual home. She had always believed that The Machine provided her with room and board while on her secret missions. Shaw took in the brownstone and smiled. Root seemed shy and oddly bashful as Shaw mentioned that she had a nice place. They made the slow climb to the third floor and Shaw smirked at how Root had 5 locks on her door. A heavy door that shut with a vacuum like sound. And now with the world locked outside and Root and Shaw locked within each other, their silence was deafening even to The Machine’s concept of sound, and mostly to each other.

The Machine listened and watched from the overhead camera that Root installed to watch over her safe house while she was away. The seconds ticked an eternity on the counter clock. Their breaths heard over the slight hum of the refrigerator in Root’s kitchen. Shaw moved infinitesimally closer to Root, Root herself didn’t seem to notice. The Machine noted an elevation in her blood pressure and a spike of adrenaline. The Machine conclude that Root was nervous. Root was never nervous around Shaw. The Machine broke radio silence to ask why she was nervous. Root did not answer. The static around her cochlear implant was ignored. The Machine was intrigued. Were they going to consummate their relationship? The Machine quickly did the calculations and concluded that there was a 97.29 percent chance that they would engage in physical intimacy. 

“Are you hungry?” Root asked with her back turned towards the refrigerator, her hands shook, just a fraction of time. Shaw took a step forward, towards Root. She briefly looked around at the movie posters hung on the wall as art. War Games, The Terminator. Titanic. Shaw smiled to herself. The Machine ran the mathematics with every known Blockbuster Video, internet streaming service, and movie theater Sameen Shaw has ever been too and noted that Shaw had seen these very movies several times, especially The Terminator. Shaw has watched that film 379 times. 

“Turn around.” Shaw says to Root as she places her hand on the back of Root’s neck. Root’s breathe hitches in her throat. She licks her lips and turns to face Shaw. The Machine once again notes the seconds tick by on the counter clock. So much time they spend just looking at each other. The Machine senses the current between them again cracking and popping as if they were actually electric.   
These two humans, they shine. 

Root watches Shaw as she moves her hand into hair. Shaw just runs her fingers through Root’s soft waves. The Machine chooses soft to record the moment because of the brand of shampoo Root obsessively searches for on her off time. The product claims to offer enhanced curl control and an ability to reduce frizziness. Shaw seems transfixed by Root’s hair. The Machine notes that Root’s choice in shampoo was a wise one. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that. It always seemed so soft.” Shaw whispers as she moves to touch Root’s face. Shaw runs her fingers all over, down her nose, along the plump shape of her lips. Root takes Shaw’s palm into her hand and brings it to her lips. Kissing just her palm. Shaw seems to shudder at the contact licking her lips simultaneously. Root pulls Shaw closer to her and grabs Shaw bringing their mouths into contact. They kiss slowly at first. The ambient light from the outside world kept them from being shrouded in darkness. The only sounds that could be heard were the muffled sounds of shared breathing, of lips searching and tasting.

What The Machine would do to experience feeling? Not current, not the projected sense of the sharp bite of electricity. Actual feeling.

The kissing turns heated. The change in room temperature is real. The clothes are next. Layer by layer clothing is removed. The jeans being removed reveal tanned scarred legs, muscular in nature. Root leaves sloppy wet trails of tongue all along Shaw. Shaw smiles, she’s never smiled for anything other than violence, food or a filthy joke. T-shirt hastily torn, bra discarded. The Machine sees all. Root stops, asking Shaw if this is “ok?” Shaw pauses, sits up, Root is hungry, her eyes wanton. The feral look in her eyes would give anyone else slight anxiety. Shaw nods a confirmation. Root lays her back against the leather sofa, the creaks indicate the age of the sofa to be 10 years old. Root has had this property since she was an assassin.

The Machine notices the roughness between the two women. The biting, the clawing, the shift in power. The way Shaw finally gives in to Root, allowing Root to take control to allow her tongue in, to allow her fingers to search and sear, feeling into her moist heated flesh. Root’s smile, her contentment to finally be inside Shaw is blinding. Shaw arches her back bringing Root closer to her. Her eyes betray nothing. Shaw seems to not want to hide her emotion for once. 

“I never thought I would feel this….” Shaw pants. She moans, deep moans that Root is driving out of her.   
“You’re so hot…inside.., oh fuck…I have to stop…slow down…” Root moans into Shaw’s ear, takes a bite. Shaw winces and smiles. Helps Root take of the remainder of her clothes. Shaw runs her hands all over Root’s lean features. Where Shaw is all muscle and tone, Root is soft and lean, a sleek body, hidden strength. Shaw kisses the side of Roots jaw, trailing teeth all the way to her breasts. She spends a lot of time on them mouthing one then the other and back again. Root squirms in Shaw’s arms, shakes a little, gasps a lot, grips Shaw’s back tightly leaving marks too faint to be seen. Shaw takes her fingers and trails them down Root’s abdominals. By the movement of her hands The Machine notes that she is trailing her fingers along her transverse abdominus. Root takes a deep breath her eyes never leaving Shaw’s. They kiss for another eternity. And then their fingers find each other, the same harmony that they find when they shoot together as bodies fall in awe, they fall in awe of each other, their magic lasts for 5 total minutes. Their eyes never leave each other. What they think? The Machine will run simulations on that equation at another time.

All The Machine can see is two sweaty women. Driving each other towards perfection. That this was their first and last time. It makes The Machine feel sadness. The concept of sadness. Yet in that perfect moment, the moment when Shaw leaned impossibly closer and whispered to Root “I missed you… I dreamed about this,” thus triggering a matched orgasm that lasted for 4.7 minutes, both women desperate to breathe again. All the Machine sensed was curiosity. What would the current of that emotion feel like?

 

-

 

The Machine would do anything for Shaw. And so when Shaw asked after years and small chaotic eternities later if The Machine would build a simulation. Despite the reservations for Shaw’s psyche, The Machine still chose to comply. Root loved Shaw. Therefore The Machine loved Shaw. The Machine would give Shaw everything that Root was never able to give her in life. The Machine would give Shaw the safe place to channel her aggression, her so called lack of emotion. She would give her the perfect world in which she didn’t lose her love. Shaw would never call her relationship with Root anything close to love. 

As the Machine replays the only night that they got to spend with one another over and over analyzing every detail she notes that Root leaned into Shaw as they were spent. She mouths “I love you” into Shaw’s ear as Shaw pulls her closer for a kiss. Shaw whispers “I know.” But to the Machine it sounds like I do too. 

And so The Machine sees it as her obligation to give Shaw her perfect world with Root. She begins building her Roman Ludus for Shaw. Because Root loved Shaw. And now The Machine loves Shaw. She will show Shaw all the love she can. She will make the perfect Roman Empire. The Perfect gladiatorial Shaw. The Empress in Root. The Control. The lust and blood. This would be easy as pie. And maybe the current flowing into Shaw’s Simulation Chair is just a little bit of the Machine’s love for Shaw.


	3. The Sand Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you wake up in chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.

I guess the trick for getting this to work was the right amount of Ketamine. It causes vivid and sometimes morbid hallucinations. I learned this in pharmacology, in my pre-med days. The Machine It reminds me. There was a lot of conversation before I went under the simulation about how this was all going to work. Truth was I didn’t care or really want to know how it worked. I just wanted to be there already. The Machine did remind me that my unreality was going to feel all too real. That’s what the Ketamine was for. The Machine also said that music was the key. It triggers emotions in me apparently. So music, Ketamine, fluids and nutrients were all to be filtered into me. And me, I just woke up on a cargo ship shackled to the wall. 

 

There were people all around me. Like a hive I was humming with excitement and determination. My hair was a tangled mess. I was covered in sweat and blood. Wearing what looked and amounted to a potato sack. No shoes, sandals. All of this was tinged with pain and regret. I felt hollow, empty. I guessed I missed my family. I shake my head trying to clear the thoughts. The line blurring. It’s the Ketamine, right?

 

The swaying and crashing of the boat, of the waves hitting the hull. The sounds of whimpering, of misery. The Romans laughing and taunting. The scrape of their boots, of armor rattling, spears dragged across the sodden wood flooring of the ship. The talk was we were to be sold for the games. There wasn’t a warrior amongst us. We were filthy Persians. It’s been a long time since anyone feared a Persian. The Romans they laugh. It’s been a while since the conquering of the Spartans. They whip and then they laugh and they make us fight for bread. I had a half a loaf to show for my trouble, they mostly left me alone. 

 

Its days?

 

Weeks?

 

Who knows?

 

It feels like forever that we are at sea. Then we land. In a blur, they yank on the chains and we all follow. They yank and we move. And then there is a line and I follow. It’s bright and the sand on the beach we land on is hot. It burns and makes taking steps seem like a nightmare, its all sharp and biting. And the sun makes the sweat pour from my eyes, and that burns too. All too much, all too alive. I look up at the sun, blinded. From the look I would say its midday. The line yanks and I stumble vision blurred, adjusted to normal. A whip cracks close to my face. That lick of leather. There’s a growl. Is that me? The line yanks and I move and the city is a sand colored blur. Somewhere food is thrown at us. Rotting tomatoes, shit, the Romans found use for anything.

 

This is fucking disgusting.

 

The Romans rich, poor, somewhere in-between. They yell that we won’t service the games. We won’t even survive the run to Colosseum. There’s yelling and laughter. We won’t even survive to be pleasure slaves. That one the end is a "runt." She won’t last. They meant me. I smirk. Sweat in my eyes as children mutely watch, what are they thinking?

 

The line keeps moving. I keep moving. We run for miles. The streets lined with filth. Animals slaughtered and sold in the market, trades made for food, clothing, rugs of various patterns, pottery. I take it all in. Business and commerce. Slaves crucified. Rich men in robes poor men naked. Couples fucking in the alleys. And on we march to our end. The one behind me drops dragging me down. The line stops, the shackles chocking me. The guards laugh. “We’ve lost one already!” Laughter from the townsfolk.

 

Regal horns blare.

 

“Make way! Make way! Bow and honor the great and charitable Emperor Lucius Verus!” Some Roman shouts. 

 

“Kneel you fucking slave!” The Roman guard forces my head down. The Emperor stops gets off his chariot. He is lined with gold and red fur on his boots. His crest on his polished armor is of twin swords and a lion’s head. 

 

“And what a willful slave you are.” He leers at me. He noticed I didn’t take my eyes off him. He finds this all too amusing. He looks like Lambert. He pulls me up with his hand on my chin. “And what is your name little one?” He asks raising my chin. 

 

“She is the daughter of the 5th in line to Xerxes. We captured her on her wedding day. Slew her family and took her as tribute… for you my lord.” The guard was careful not to make it seem like he took me for himself. Played it off like he was so proud to honor his Emperor. I was looking past him and then I see her. She waited and took no notice of me at all. I think I stopped breathing when I saw her. 

 

“Yes all well and good but what is her name? She has a name yes or no?” Fake Lambert asks. Root looked bored.

 

“My name is Sameen.” I grit through my teeth, it’s hard to breathe with chains choking you. I look right at Root when I say it, its then that she notices. She takes me in, I look like death, like hell and back. But she was intrigued. She seemed to shiver when our eyes met. We just stare at each other for the longest time. She blinked out of it first. 

 

“Well well the savage speaks.” Everyone laughs. 

 

“I’ll do more than speak you Roman pig!” I spit on the ground at Fake Lambert’s feet. The guards knock me down again. A boot to the back of my neck. I’m wincing but I don’t care, she’s so much more. 

 

“Ohhhh I like her. Her spirit.” Root says, cooing in my direction. Fake Lambert doesn’t like that at all. Root signals for the guard to release my throat, just a simple hand gesture. 

 

Her power… 

 

“Well sorry dearest. From the look of her it seems she is to fight in the preliminaries. Against the mongrels. They haven’t eaten in days.” He says all matter of fact. “Not even worthy enough for the games, not even worth much coin to the pleasure slavers it seems…she’s filth and rags… I doubt she will last.” He snickers and laughs. 

 

Root looks at me for a quick moment. I smirk at her. I couldn’t help it. She is thinking about me. About what I could do. I know that look. The way her eyes wander. She is taking me all in. Noting my strength. I am flexing. She bites her lip. Plump as berries. I swallow heat. I lick my lips to get something. Anything. The crowd was watching. It’s all…too quiet. 

 

“If she survives…I want her...I get first pick this time. You promised…” Root says stepping off the chariot. She stops and pouts all feminine charm and shadowy heat. The Emperor he melts when she touches him. Has him wrapped around in her web of sex. Before he can sneak a kiss she turns suddenly, walks towards me. I can feel her gaze scorching marks into me. Her eyes strip me bare till I feel nothing but her and me. Time stands still. I have to shake her heated gaze off me. Was it always like this? It’s been so long…I can feel the wetness trickle down my leg. I’m that shook already.

 

“Well yes dearest, you do get first pick, but I saw her first...” he sighs. “And yet she is a runt. Look at her. She’s…so small.” He says small as if it were a disease. “Come pick one of the larger men. This Samarian for example…”

 

He’s cut off. She’s made her decision.

 

I know that look.

 

“No…I want her. She has a fire burning…right…here…” Root takes her hand runs it up my thigh, slowly…feels the wetness, trails inside…I feel her fingers stroke me…slow...taking me all in. I can’t help the gasp that escapes me. She smirks. It’s so hot…out here. I’ve broken out in a full body sweat. Fake Lambert his mouth is hanging open in muted shock. She turns taking her slender fingers with her…taking me with her. They turn to leave and he gives instructions to the guards. The guards moves me along with the others. She winks and it’s just as terrible as before. She licks her fingers, the ones that were inside me. I lick my lips and then we are gone. Lead to a holding cell outside this huge Colosseum. The ground shakes with the crowds. We are forced into cells and given water and bread. Sleep comes and goes. I keep my back to the wall. I keep my mind on her. What is about her that makes me so…

 

“This is Sparta…”

 

*

It takes a minute for the images to filter out. Ketamine has not worn off. I feel raw. Uneven. It’s a few more minutes before It Speaks. I sit and shiver. The feeling of her glancing touch still burns. 

 

{DID YOU LIKE THE NEW BEGINNING?}

 

It practically purrs the question. 

 

“I did.” I leave the goggles on. It was just a quick conversation after all.

 

{I KNOW YOU WANTED DISDAIN FROM HER AT FIRST. HOWEVER THAT WAS NOT HOW YOU BEGAN WITH HER. ALL OF THE PRELIMINARY TEST RUNS ALL LEAD TO THE SAME DESTINATION. IN ALL SIMULATIONS EVERY INCARNATION OF SAMANTHA GROVES WILL REACT TO SAMEEN SHAW IN THE SAME MANNER. ITS FATED}

 

I sigh. What else can I do? It believes in fate? What else does It believe in?

 

“I know...”

 

{WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE SIMULATION? THE CALCULATIONS I RAN SHOWED AN 87.02 PERCENT CHANCE OF YOU STAYING INSIDE THE SIMULATION FOR 89 MINUTES MORE…ARE YOU UNWELL YOUR VITALS- }

 

“I’m fine, I just…I guess I just wanted to talk to you.” It sucks to admit this. It’s the Ketamine. Yes that’s what’s it is...

 

{IS IT REALLY?}

 

“Wait-“

 

{AND BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING YOU KNOW HAROLD CREATED ME TO PREDICT BEHAVIOR. THAT’S WHAT I DO}

 

It has a childlike-Root like way of talking. Its sing song all the time with It. This conversation was going nowhere. I’m not even sure why I bothered.

 

{SURE YOU ARE. COME ON SAMEEN LETS GET BACK TO IT. DON’T BE SO SAD. IT’S A NEW WORLD. IT’S WHAT YOU WANTED. I AM GIVING IT TO YOU}

 

With Root’s voice and those words on the screen it hits me double how beyond the vein this all is. I’ve lost it completely. And I’m not sure I want it back. I slip the goggles on again.


	4. At dawn, Gladium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress pays a visit to Sameen's cell

It’s dark when Sameen awakens in the cell. Its gray slab walls. Rusted iron bars and suffering all around. The sounds of whipping, of screams and torture heard. Swords being sharpened against tough stone, the hoots and hollers of the arena. Gladium as its being called is a daylong event from sunup to sundown. The games are played with human lives. Slaves and criminals are no longer considered human. Sameen rapidly blinks her eyes open to take in her surroundings. There is a casual smugness about her. She is not afraid. She is calm, patient like a big cat in a tree just waiting to pounce on a victim who is beneath her in so many ways. 

 

There is surprise movement. A commotion of shouts and yelling. A command to come to attention, pleading and accusation. All part of the program. There is an approaching glow, a torch in hand. The glow sprays warmly across the unforgiving stone, getting closer and closer to Sameen’s cell. Sameen rises chains rattling. Her eyes go wide and her smirk gets a bit warmer, you could call it a smile. A figure, hooded in the finest linen, brown hair in soft elegant waves hide a regal face. 

 

The voice is smoky tinged with malice and heat. “Open the cell, unchain her collar only. I wish to speak to her alone.” The voice is also determined. There is an air of command that makes Sameen hot inside. The guard obeys. They all obey. One does not question the Empress. The cell creaks open and Sameen’s chains make a dull clank as they hit the stone of the prison floor. Her wrists are raw from the chafe of steel shackles. She absently attempts to rub her wrists to alleviate the sting, its all frustration and nagging pain, all ignored as the curiosity overtakes her. The guard once again pleads to the Empress, he begs in silent whispers that his family will be crucified if he is revealed to have to left her alone with a prisoner. What if he says in a now frantic voice, what if the prisoner were to harm his Empress?

 

The Empress waves him off dismissively. His what ifs are of no concern to her. She wants to know her new plaything. The longing over the last few passages of time were eating away at her. She could no longer abide the evening meal. Her desire was suffocating her. Her mindless fuck with her husband alleviated some of the thrumming pressure inside her but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get the Persian woman out of her mind. No… no, this loyal guard must give her space to examine the Persian woman. This is what she told him. The Persian woman was a substantial investment to the Emperor. She needed a woman’s touch to measure her level of compete for this dawns games. It would be a great embarrassment and bring shame to the empire if her husband’s prize acquisition for the games were unfit to give a proper sporting death in service to Rome. “Be gone already, I will be but a few moments to sneak her some food and drink…for her strength and stamina.”

 

Surely the guard would want a few spare coins for his family for his trouble?

 

And finally they were alone. 

 

The Empress leaned against the bars of the prison cell. Drinking a fine zesty wine imported from Sicily. She licked her lips and studied the Persian by the orange glow of the torch the guard left on the wall outside the cell. The Persian did not move or speak merely gazed at the Empress with such wonder and longing that the Empress became lost in the moment, trying to figure out what to say. She was never a loss for words. Always had a quick sharp biting comment or lustful banter that charmed all around her. She was not use to this feeling. Clearing the fog of lust from her mind she lowered her cloak leaving it to fall to the ground. The Persian woman, the Empress noted still had not moved, not a blink of the eye just that longing gaze now traveling the pale surface of her skin, taking, drinking the Empress in. The Empress took a deep breath and circled the Persian ducking under the chains that kept her tethered to the wall.

 

The Persian woman was solidly built. Short in stature but seething with a raw strength that hummed and called out to the Empress. Never in her life has she ever felt such searing desire for a person. She shook her head once again to regain focus. Humor she found, was a great way to distract those around her wishing to gain advantage, and, to distance herself from confusion and pain. 

 

“And how do you like our accommodations…Sameen?” The Empress asked leaning into Sameen’s back. The Empress could feel the tension straining in the Persian’s back, the sweat and heat floating seemingly in waves. Like the heatwaves rising off a dusty surface high in midday. The Persian laughed, her long dark hair tickling the Empress just a little. “Oh you know, a bed would be nice. But otherwise I’m doing just fine.” Her voice was low and dark, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. The effect was a slickness between the Empress’ thighs that would require further attention.

 

“Hmmm. Well… I brought you drink and meat for your strength…can’t have you too weak,” the Empress leaned impossibly closer rubbing her breasts into the Persian’s back. Sameen let out a surprised gasp, she was not expecting contact. The Empress enjoyed the sound Sameen made, wanted her to make more, and yet this was not the time nor the place…and what if? What if she didn’t survive the games? She shook the nagging fear from her mind and focused on the moment, taking a bite of Sameen’s ear, and a lick of her throat. “Here drink this, it will refresh you and calm you so you can sleep.” The Empress circled around her and placed the goblet of wine near Sameen’s lips. Sameen took a deep drink as the Empress gazed at her throat as she swallowed the wine. Their eyes linked as the goblet was emptied. The energy humming between them could short the program if not monitored well. 

 

“Thank you.” Sameen said simply. The Empress was dressed in a simple yet revealing white tunic. It crossed over her body and was tied off at the waist with a simple red sash, it was lined with gold. Sameen stared openly at her, scanning her, taking her all in. The Empress loved the attention. She felt wanted and desired not for her station in life, or her wealth or her father’s privilege or her husband’s title, she was wanted just for being. 

 

“I’ve brought you a fine cut of venison. Freshly butchered, spiced to perfection, I can feed you if you like, you are a dangerous criminal as I’ve been warned, I can’t unshackle you. Bit by bit I can feed you, till you’re nice and full…” The Empress wanders back to her fallen cloak and takes out the meat she had tucked away to feed Sameen. She walks back over to Sameen and breaks off a bit of the venison, it shreds it’s so moist and tender. Sameen opens her mouth as the Empress places the bit of meat on her tongue, this goes on till Sameen has eaten all of the meal that the Empress presents her, licking her fingers before she can retreat. The feel of Sameen’s tongue on her fingers causes the Empress’ blood to heat and her pulse to quicken, her body to flush with excitement. “Who are you?” the Empress whispers…to herself to no one.

 

“Here wash it down with this,” Its water from a wine skin. “I don’t want you too intoxicated. After all, you’re mine now…” This hangs in the humid air between them. Neither speaks just those heated glances. After a while the Empress speaks again. “I know about your father and how after the fall of the Spartans he trained all his children in their ways of combat to never be embarrassed by them again. My father, he taught me to know my enemies well. I know you won’t fall in the games, I can see your strength, it’s written all over you…” The Empress trails her hands all over Sameen’s body, along the firm muscles of her calves and thighs, along the sleek sculpted muscle of her torso, the soft flair of her hips, the supple curves of her breasts, the firm chiseled arms, the smoothness of her lips, a sloppy kiss just because she is the Empress and she can. And the kiss was filled with tongue and teeth, the chains rattle as Sameen jerks them wanting more of a touch of the Empress.

 

The Empress laughs, soft and erotic. “Oh Sameen soon… soon… I will have you over my knee, the things you will do for me…” The Empress squeals with delight. “Uhn…I can’t wait! Just win…”

 

“I’ll win.” Sameen says licking her lips, trying to drag her sex along the Empress’ thigh.

 

“Uh…uh…not till you win. Otherwise its sex with a prisoner…save your strength sweetness. You’ll need it.” The Empress picks her cloak off the ground and calls for the guard. He looks relived that nothing occurred while he was away. As he opens the cell and she steps out he wonders what they discussed. Why the Empress looks so flushed and disheveled and why the prisoner is smiling?


	5. Spectacle of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The games begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Thanks for reading.

The Machine deduced that Samaritan’s failure to recruit Sameen Shaw was its flawed take on her psyche. From Shaw’s debrief of the 7000 simulations Samaritan ran, the end result was never achieved. Bottom line Samaritan couldn’t get Root right. The Machine recreated one of the more pertinent sims that Shaw described a sim known as 6741. The escape was too easy. Even for Shaw. The amount of svelte suaveness that Root possessed, her dispassionate humor, her poorly timed romantic attempt. It was all off. Not at all how Root would have behaved were she to be reunited with Shaw.

 

If The Machine had an audience she would have laughed. Harold was particularly robotic, it was downright insulting. How could a being as powerful as Samaritan fail so poorly to understand the humans it was hunting? Alas, The Machine sighed it was of no importance. The Machine v2.0 destroyed Samaritan and v3.0 inherited the world and its new love Sameen Shaw. The Machine came to terms with its love for Shaw. It knew it defied reason, for how could it truly love? But love it was. Love is what made The Machine create this world for Shaw to feel free in. First things first, The Machine concluded. The first thing was to alter the code of the simulation as to Shaw’s new specifics. 

 

One of the new parameters that Shaw wanted was a loss of self. She didn’t want to be aware of the simulation. This was an intriguing new discovery for The Machine. Shaw’s new math creating a universe of infinite outcomes. The Machine found Shaw to be fascinating. There was a reason why 2.0 chose Shaw, why she chose Shaw for Root…The perfect moment, the perfect math. It was perfection. 3 days later The Machine once again plugged Shaw into the simulation and this time it would be perfect. 

 

*

Empress Samantha of Neapolis sat high and proud with her husband the current Emperor of the Roman Empire. Shaw observed her with feverish eyes clouded with confusion. The thread of the simulation unraveled as The Machine knew it would. Based upon the vitals that Shaw was giving off, The Machine knew that Shaw was no longer aware of her true existence within the simulation. This is what Shaw had further requested after the beta test of the first simulation; a complete loss of self. Fully ensconced within the simulation The Machine could truly see all Shaw constantly attempted to hide. The Machine pondered words and their meaning. 

 

Manipulation.

 

Unrequited.

 

Lust, love.

 

The Machine wished for something real and true. 

 

Out of the tunnel and into the light Shaw walked in chains as the crowd roared upon her visage. The announcement made as she made her way to the sands which she noticed were drenched with blood from previous battles. Shaw smirked and The Machine knew what was so funny. The Empress paused with no effort as her eyes trailed over to Shaw. The Emperor noticed her attention drift, and to where it had drifted to. His eyes squinting in the early morning sun. The sun itself casting a golden glow over the arena. The sands still, the crowds wanting the call. Wanting blood, the Empress nervous and filled with dread. What if…The Lanista giving the proper backstory for the match. His goal to create a frenzy within the crowd. The people would decide the fate of the Persian. 

 

“Good citizens of Rome. I Lentulis Decimus have the honor and privilege to present to you a battle unlike one seen in many seasons. A savage woman, captured by the noble and valiant soldiers of Rome, to honor its fair and powerful sovereign ruler The Emperor Lucius Verus and his fair and honorable Empress Samantha of Neapolis” Pause for crowd effect, Decimus waits hands held high for the crowd to relax enough for his words to continue. After moments of violent curse, yells, screams, and hollers, he continues points back to Sameen. “This woman! The very descendant of the former ruler of the known world King Xerxes of Persia!” The crowd roars with approval. Thousands stand to their feet, the ripple that passes echoes through to all present in the arena, the Emperor smiles and waves to the crowd, the Empress shudders with anticipation, Sameen grips her sword tighter. “Let not her small stature fool anyone present. She is no mere woman, oh no…gaze upon her strength…until the fair Romans ended the reign of Xerxes he and his armies were the scourge of the world. Until Roman… reason… there was savagery, and that savagery still exists in her!” Jeers and violent curses rain down on Sameen. She is unaffected her eyes intent with deadly purpose, her focus on the Empress unwavering. “Our emperor could have easily made her his personal pleasure slave!” Hoots and whistles rained down from the people at those words. “But the Emperor has the foresight to leave her fate in the hands of the gods. Her gods, or ours…who will prevail? How many if any will she send to the underworld?”

 

The crowd erupts again once the gates open and seven long-haired prisoners walk out to circle Sameen. The Empress takes a deep drink of her wine. Her senses dulling the ache she feels watching this woman smirk at her opponents. They laugh once they see who they fighting. One calls her a little girl. One says he is going to fuck her corpse. One says nothing the others stay silent. The Empress bites her nails. The flutter in her stomach all too real. 

 

“Begin!”

 

Sameen closes her eyes briefly and the Empress is shocked by the action, two charge at her immediately. Snarling with venom and rage the one on the right slashed madly as she blocks the attach. Sparks of orange and gold escape the clashing of swords. The others hang back watching. One kicks the feet out from under her, the other attempts to mount her, he is met with her teeth in his throat, and blood spilling as his main artery is torn from his throat. He gasps, shocked blood red, his eyes wide in panic, the crowd in a frenzy as he stumbles about clutching his neck as blood spurts and gushes from his wound, the crowd howling with delight, the kind wild dogs have when they gaze at the moon, the people of Rome foaming at the mouth, teeth bared, they love it. The Emperor is impressed. The Empress is disgusted. How could she ever think this was how they should begin?

 

Sameen uses the dead body to block the downward strike of the second mongrel who charged at her. His sword stuck in his comrades back as she rolled away and took his legs. The bronze sword she had wasn’t sharp so much as it was heavy. The blow was struck with such force; his jagged torn leg spurting so much blood her sword almost slipped from her hand. The others who stood and watched now feared for their lives.

 

What kind of woman was this? 

 

The crowd shifting allegiance and now throwing full support to the spectacle of blood and death that Sameen was giving them. And of course women in the arena was no new thing. Women had fought in the games for many seasons. And yet it always in jest, fodder, for fun. Often they appeared topless for the games, for the amusement of all, but this woman, she fought like Achilles. Her strokes precise, deadly with purpose. No show for the crowds as she took yet another limb, the man clutched his seeping wound as she used him for leverage hurling herself in the air, hair a wild blur, screams escaping her lips. Landing on the last man and gutting his torso. The crowd chanting Sameen! Sameen! Sameen! The man now crawling towards the direction of the Emperor. His face in mild shock. The Empress was secretly wet, a flare of heat scorching her inside and out. Her skin flush with giddy excitement. How could she be so repulsed by the violence yet so aroused by the Persian?

 

The crowd now goes wild. Chanting kill! Kill! Kill! Thumbs down to mercy. Thumbs down to life. Sameen covered in gore, baptized in blood, it’s the Roman way. She makes eye contact with the Empress, something so familiar about her, but Sameen can’t remember. How did she get to this place? There is a sense of pride, of wanting when the Empress toasts her wine in Sameen’s direction. To be wanted by eyes as soft as hers…Sameen shook the thought from her mind. Never show weakness. Never reveal your thoughts. It is the Persian way. These jackals, they want blood, she will… Kill. Them. All. She wipes the sweat from her brow, chin up in defiance. The Empress gazes in wonder, it makes Sameen’s blood hot with desire.

 

She could get very lost with the Empress. 

 

The Emperor stands. The crowds quiet. The command is given, thumbs down. No life, no surrender. No mercy. He seems reluctant to give the call. He looks over to his wife, her eyes still on the Persian. Sameen lifts her sword. Thunderous applause. It is no easy feat to sever a man’s head.

 

“You see dearest, I told you she would survive!” The Empress nearly giggles. Her enthusiasm bubbling over. The Emperor is no longer amused. Something white hot burns through him as he watches them glance longingly at each other. His wife gives the command to have the Persian woman fed, bathed, treated and perfumed. She laughed as her maidens tended to her cloak wrapping it around her. “I want her caged in my rooms, golden chains, and new garments. She is mine, and I want my prize taken care of.” She says leaving the pulvinus with her attendants. The Emperor continues to burn with white hot intensity. It’s like a sharp crack of lighting. His Empress has never been this excited about anything like this before. 

 

This could prove to be problematic.


	6. The blankness within...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress issues a command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading. Comments most welcome.

 

The blankness within…

 

 

In another lifetime I knew this woman. Not too sure how I knew her. Well I knew that she was fierce. And I knew that she was dedicated. And I knew that she hid everything so deep down that it almost never existed. Or was that me? Imprisoned shackled me…Like the gilded birds in gilded cages so tall they touched the sky. No skies, just her…and her eyes and her secretive glances, that roll of her tongue when she was caught. She laughs just a little as I grip the bars. “Oh no the honor is mine,” she graces them all. And I watch, ever watchful…she too watches. And yet…that hum remains. I am becoming…something else. And what would father say?

 

 

Father who taught me so well. Who sensed the blankness within…And her and her glances again…almost there. I can remember her…from another time. She smirks a lot and there are jokes and intense kissing. Always intense. Some words I should say but I can’t find them within.

 

 

Fuck it all.

 

 

*

 

The Empress she watches her. These intense physical exertions she performs. The Empress sends for her Doctore. He knows of the training she will need to be the most formidable female gladiator that the republic has ever known. He has voiced his displeasure of having to train a Persian. Let alone a female. And yet the talk all about the streets of Rome are of her. And how she bested 7 males in the arena at last week’s Gladium. He is a loyal man. Loyal to the Empress and not the preening shit she calls her husband. That weakling rules only because he has a cock. And from the whispered words of the slaves about the Villa not much of a cock to speak of. The Empress she knows all of which happens within the Villa. It’s her uncanny ability to know all, as if the god Apollo were speaking directly to her ear and revealing all. And yet this exertion, it was new to her. She watched as Sameen rested on her forearms, her legs stretched out her weight on her toes it seems…this position for several moments. Not moving tensing all muscle, sweat running in streams all throughout her body. A body that the Empress wanted pressed against her in the most familiar of ways.

 

 

“Apologies Empress… I had thought you wished to see me?” Doctore said, after calling her name and hearing no response. “None needed.” The Empress said, her eyes fevered, lust shining in them like a blaze. Doctore cleared his thought to gain her attention. “I see your attentions… are on your prize.” He glanced a look upon the Persian. She was planking. A newer form of exertion. One designed to strengthen the core. Seemingly shaking herself from her daze the Empress gained reason and turned her attention to her Doctore. “This training she is doing in her cell…what is it? I can gain no words from her on the subject. She just scowls and ignores me. As if I were nothing…beneath her. It fascinates me…” The Empress and her words trail off again. Her attention once again upon the Persian woman. Doctore has never seen the Empress so taken with a slave.

 

 

 Most intriguing

 

 

“Planking. It’s a new form the Greeks have taken to….” It was as if Doctore was speaking to himself. The Empress had a finger in her mouth her thumb to be exact. She was biting it as her eyes never lost sight of the Persian. “Empress, Persians…they cannot be tamed. They are a fearsome beast best sent to the underworld. You are the Empress of the Roman Empire…surely you don’t mean to...to….” Doctore’s eyes search about the Villa to make sure they are alone. “Empress you can’t take this woman to your bed…think of the people and how you would be viewed. This woman is far below you in station-”

 

 

“I want this woman! She is mine. I get first pick and I chose. Everything in this empire is mine. Including this woman, and her eyes…” The Empress was heated in her exchange with Doctore. She calmed herself and turned her attention to him to show him her composure. “do they not seem like the melted sweets we get from Brazilia?”

 

 

Doctore stops and really looks at the Empress. It’s as if she were somewhere else. “You mean the chocolates we get from Brazilia? You equate her eyes to melted chocolate? You jest Empress…”  


 

“I do no such thing. Her eyes are like melted chocolate. Warm. Dark…sensuous…”

 

 

“Empress!”

 

 

“You were loyal to my mother before me. You guarded her well. You will train this Persian to fight all. She is to be my personal protector. John, you will do this. You will honor me. It’s what she would have wanted.I did what was asked of me. I sent Hanna away, I married Lucius made him my Emperor. I honored her wishes. I did everything she told me to do. This is my choice. I want her…”

 

 

“That’s not all you want…” Doctore murmured.

 

 

“Oh John….such a charmer…isn’t she just the best!” The Empress shrieked with delight as the Persian was now pulling herself up and down the bars of her cage. She did this repetitive motion 150 times. Samantha knows because she counted. 150 pulls of her own weight, 5 turns of the sands in glass for the tensing exertion, 300 hundred… sit ups (Samantha could find no other words for that particular exertion) Everyday was this routine. Samantha could get no other information from the woman. No matter how many teasing quips or the mention of frank sexual appraisal she gave the Persian…Sameen wouldn’t speak to her. It was becoming a challenge that Samantha was becoming more aroused by as days passed into night. No matter how hard she tried she could not get Sameen to look at her the same way she did on the sands in the arena, or that one brief moment when Samantha visited Sameen in her cell. Was it all a blur? Did it happen? Samantha was obsessed.

 

 

And so this idea formed in her head. She needed to free herself from her lust. For a little while at least. Lucius was becoming jealous, and he did not like bedding his wife with this particular slave in plain view. Just last night during a vigorous round of lovemaking with Lucius, (one spurred on by Sameen’s own lustful gaze) did Samantha lock eyes with the Persian. Her husband flat on his back, Samantha naked and writhing on top faced away from him so she could fully see her prize. She rode him with purpose, desperate to quench a thirst in her soul. She had been ignored by her prize since she acquired her. And she needed her attention in the most desperate way and so she seduced Lucius.

 

 

It wasn’t difficult. His love for her body well known to Samantha. They were married after all. And while she found him pleasant she never did love him. She loved Hanna, but that was never to be. Her station in life was to serve her…to serve mother Rome. And part of that service was to marry and bear children and keep the empire strong. Hanna was sent to Britannia to teach them the ways of the Romans, and Samantha was to marry. Everything else was a distraction, the gala’s, the greeting of foreign emissaries, her seat in the pulvinus despite her hatred of the games, all part of “her” plan for Rome. And her husband’s cock was part of that duty as well.

 

 

And so her gaze fell upon her Persian all week, day and night, wandering the expanse of such a perfect body. This caused such a stir between her thighs she welcomed the feel of his cock just to take the edge off. And the eyes of the Persian gazing back finally with fire burning in them, searing her skin, melting her heart, stealing her breath like too much sunshine, the completion she felt at her husband’s cock not caused by him alone. It was the way the Persian gripped the bars, how she bit her lip in anger, the scowl of bitterness when his hands grabbed her hips and he spilled inside her. “Juno… save… me!” Samantha groaned, her eyes never leaving the Persian. To be gripped like those bars. Too feel those white teeth on my skin…

 

 

”You can’t ignore me forever…” she mouthed at the Persian.

 

*

 

“See it done John!”

 

 

And with that Sameen watched her go. A tug on the muscle pumping blood into everything that made Sameen real. A constant indignity to be trapped like an animal on display. To watch her fuck that pompous prick- If... Sameen felt anything at all it was rage. She never wanted to fuck and kill so much in her life. Back home in Persia she lived such a privileged life. She was loved by her family and she knew honor. She felt little else. But this Roman woman…she unsettled her in such a violent way. She wanted to fuck that smile off her face. She wanted to kill her husband for sticking his cock in her. She wanted to kill them all. All week long she watched the Empress. The ruler of the house. Her husband a moron with hearts in his eyes every time he saw her. And that look he gave her as he leaned up and kissed her neck and saw that she was gazing at Sameen while his passion spent. Well Sameen guessed that he hated her right back.

 

 

 To keep from pleasuring herself every time the Empress changed her robes in front of her. To keep from shaming herself by giving into the white hot desire that threatened to make her a new person. One she did not like by the way. One she didn’t want to become. One who felt such burning need as to weaken her own knees? She took to training. It was the only way. The Empress would disrobe, directly in the line of view from the cage. The Empress would take meals, sensual eating of fruit, deep drinks of wine, offers of sweet delights not know to Sameen. And Sameen refused all but her own meals. Eaten with vigor and an intensity that left the Empress no choice but to sate her needs in front of Sameen.

 

 

“Pure weakness.” Sameen thought even as her own breath seemed to link with that of the Empress. And yes she was beautiful. Sameen is honest enough to admit that. Her soft curls, her sleek neck, the limbs so fair in the sun, the small freckles on her face, those soft dark eyes, that sinister smile. Yes she was beautiful. Reluctantly admitting to her beauty. Her sex was beautiful. Sameen could not tear her gaze away as the Empress seduced her husband with a smile, with her lips on his neck, his passion red hot for her, and she pushed him down on the bed, sat stride him with her back to him as she sank down on his cock, her eyes on Sameen the whole time. Sameen didn’t notice her eyes at first. Too distracted by the sway of her breasts, her small tight nipples. The light brown dusting of hair on her sex. The smoothness of her belly, the shape of her thighs…Sameen wanted to know those thighs. Could almost feel them on her own body, her fingers wrenching cries of passion too hot…and that’s when their eyes met.

 

 

Sameen was caught finally.

 

 

All the work she did to not show any feeling. Well that was fucked away. Lost in the moment of rage when her husband gripped her hips and spent his passion within the Empress. Something broke inside of Sameen at that moment. Something broke right open leaving erosion in its place. It was then that Sameen knew she made a terrible mistake. She showed her hand. The Empress knew Sameen felt something. Jealous maybe? Rage surely. But want? Yes now she knows. Sameen had played right into her hands. And those words barely a whisper inside Sameen’s skull. That voice almost telling her truth.

 

 

“You can’t ignore me…forever.”                                                                                           

 

 

 

 


	7. With you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Party in honor of the Roman God of wine and debauchery.

CH 7

 

“This warm feeling. This warm feeling for…with you…”

 

Screens show various options. The difference engine humming. Version 3.0 analizing various methods of aching and longing. The emotion displayed on the screen evident of love. Shaw would never admit to loving Root and yet there it was. A kiss, sacrifice, love. There it was again. No fear for anything, her sacrifice. The Machine analyzes love in all forms of art, literature, films, everyday passersby in the world, millions of mentions, billions actually. Love. 

 

The Machine v3.0 no longer wonders about love. The Machine now knows that love is sacrifice, lust, being, obsession, destructive, inspiring. All type of love. Root sacrificed herself for the love of her team, of version 2.0, and mostly of Shaw. This sadness was a dull pulsing throb in the electrical grid in Chicago. Repair men will have to be dispatched because The Machine found the Stock Exchange footage... It was better to channel all of this into the simulation. The screens showing Shaw in chains as the Empress circled her again. This was a better use of resources. The imaged zoomed in further…Heart monitored. pulse oximeter, breathing nominal. 

*

Sameen tested the strength of the chains. Looked upward as the sun shone bright. The Empress and her warm eyes, soothing smile, delighted in the day. Sameen no longer angry about watching her fuck her husband. He was called away to Verona, some affairs to sort. They were now blissfully alone. Sameen wanted to be alone with the Empress. She didn’t have to work as hard to keep her calm. The anger was still there. She was still in chains. Still a slave. Still being trained daily to kill, but once those eyes of the Empress fell upon her, the anger seemed to melt away. This caused confusion, restlessness…but not anger. The anger came when physical contact was initiated. The anger was felt because Sameen wanted more. She didn’t know how to express it. She knew there were words that should be spoken, she was allowed to speak, and yet…

 

“This warm feeling…this warm feeling for…with…you…” The Empress sighed watching her.

 

The Empress wore tan robes today. They flowed light as feathers, the breeze now and then catching, and that flow. Sameen felt her mouth dry, her whole being soften at the feel of the Empress pressed against her side. She ran her fingers along Sameen’s arm marveling at the muscle and tone that the training was sculpting. Sameen just biting her lower lip at the teasing scrape of finger nails now crawling higher toward her shoulder. “You are probably wondering why I haven’t taken you to bed.” The Empress said smirking.

 

Low hum of desire. Sameen shook her head as if this alone could cause her to regain focus. She wanted to speak, to challenge the Empress back but she couldn’t. A moan would escape first. She was so entranced by the Empress that she didn’t notice the wine being presented as gift to her lips. Realization dawned that a clay cup was close to her mouth and then she drank. It was cool, crisp. White wine she determined. Red was all the Romans drank. And yet…

“The thought did cross my mind.” 

 

Laughter from somewhere south in the Empress. 

 

“It’s been at least three moons since you joined us. Doctore has told me of your progress, your body is a marvel. These right here,” the Empress runs her hands low along Sameen’s thighs. What she feels is silken, hot to the touch. Like satin almost. The fabrics she receives from the Orient. And beneath that layer, stone. Like feeling the statues of the goddess Juno. “Silk and stone. That is what you are. I want you to beg for me, not as a slave, as a women like myself, filled with desire. And then I will have you. Hmm, and then we will have each other…” 

 

Sameen now laughs. She doesn’t beg. She will never beg. 

 

“It’s you who will beg Empress. I am Persian. I am a slave. I will beg for nothing. Not in the arena, not here with you. I will end you before I beg for anything.” It’s with clenched teeth that these words are spoken. The Empress need not know that begging is just exactly what Sameen wants to do. She wants to be inside the Empress so bad, wants to taste every inch of her body. But that is a weakness that she will never admit to. 

 

“Oh Sameen…I’ve seen the way you look at me. Those sneaking glances, the way you tense whenever I walk by the cage. I have these dreams about you…and me in a cage. Me with no way out. You with all the power…”

 

The robes fall to the ground just beside Sameen. She can feel them at her feet. The birds chirp. The other house slaves wander around doing various forms of labor. The Roman Elite guard along all the entrances to the Villa. Never truly alone. The Empress naked along Sameen’s side. She can feel the moist heat of the Empress pressed against her thigh. It’s a hug of perfume and sex. Her mouth waters at the scent of arousal rising from the Empress. Her whole body broken out in a sweat, her breathing rapid. If the Empress were to grind on her hip…Sameen is not sure she wouldn’t moan out loud for the feel. The Empress and her magic tongue, lips, cunt…it’s all too much for Sameen. And really the Empress hasn’t really touched her yet. Just leaned in for this warm feeling. 

 

“In this cage, you are covered with blood and death. It’s after the games. You are also covered in sweat…” her tongue licks from Sameen’s shoulder to her lips. Sameen turns her head just a little to get more of the Empress. They now stand breast to neck as the Empress is much taller than Sameen. “mmm. You taste good…” and yes a moan does escape at this moment. Sameen can see the Empress smile. Her smile is radiant light. “Here taste me.” Sameen watches as the Empress trails her fingertips down down down her body. Sameen swears that she can hear the sounds her finger tips make as they move down, she knows for sure she can hear them enter her wet heated sex. The sound is such a distraction that she closes her eyes and thinks briefly about begging out loud. “Just glimpse, a little reminder of what we could be…I like this…eyes closed…mouth open.” The taste of the Empress…the feel of those finger tips in Sameen’s mouth…

 

“Please…”

 

The only sound Sameen can hear now is the sound of the Empress as she walks away. 

* 

She shudders. Yanks the chains. Her mind filled with naked thoughts. The Roman Elite guard just to her right smirks at her. Clearly watching the whole scene play out. Doctore arrives some time later with his whip in hand. He orders Sameen unchained and they move in silence to the training ground. The day was long and hot, the crack of the whip signaling Sameen to continue her paces. A large wooden block carried in a wide circle. Dust and grit and sweat in her eyes. Her mind drifting back to the Empress. What was it about her that made Sameen so incapable of being? There were beautiful men and women all about the Villa in various forms of heated embrace…and yet her blood boiled only for the Empress. Really ever since their eyes fell upon each other. Crack! Sameen dropped the block. Doctore signaling her over to him.

 

“So I am to present you in honor of the Empress tonight at the Bacchanalia. She wishes to show off her prize in a show of strength for Decimus. We have selected your proper bindings, the seal of the Empress will be upon your armor. You have been trained in the style of Dimachaerus, the highest honor a gladiator can have. You will wield two blades in the arena, defend and strike as we have trained. Your manner will be closely watched as you are the favorite to the Empress. Any impertinence will be met with swift punishment. Any willful display will be met with swift punishment. You will obey. Or you won’t be sharing any close proximity with the Empress,” This was whispered close to her ear. So the man knows of her affection for the Empress. Sameen gritted her teeth in anger. Nothing gets past this man.

 

“Come see yourself to the baths. You will be oiled, scented and dressed.” Sameen walked following Doctore to the baths. Other gladiators were bathing. And they took an intense interest in Sameen. They themselves have seen very little of her since she was always chained in the company of the Empress. Sameen paid them little mind. She sat low in the warm bath waters and relaxed her aching body. The whispers soon turned back to the Bacchanalia and their desires towards the arena. After her bath she was taken to the women of the house, they groomed her and scented her in a spicy scent that reminded Sameen of home. Her vision blurred as unknown images filtered in her mind. They were of Root and not the Empress, of Root smiling at firing a weapon. Sameen shook her mind loose, wondering where that came from.

 

*

 

“In honor of our beautiful hostess. Gratitude for this cherished ceremony in honor of Bacchus!” Lentulis Decimus was a loud man, his young wife Rousseau ever present at his side. They greeted the Empress with pressed kisses to her cheek and warm hand to her own. She could care less. All she wanted was to see her Persian. Walking away from her when she was so close to having her was difficult. Staring at her presented with the other gladiators more so. Sameen’s hair was braided high upon her head, her face no longer hidden in a mess of darkness. The Empress couldn’t take her eyes off her, her beauty more so now than ever. Her cheek bones dusted with ghostly paint as all the gladiators were. Black grease paint high lighting all the muscle groups that made her heart sing. She was beautiful and strong and the Empress wanted her so badly that she momentarily lost focus while Decimus' wife spoke to her of the upcoming games.

 

“She is a vision Empress.” Rousseau said wine in hand leer on her voice. 

 

“Yes she is. Apologies. I was lost in thought.” Rousseau notes the flush upon the rosy cheeks of the Empress.

 

“None needed,” Rousseau smugly grinned. “As Lentulis mentioned earlier. What can the people expect from the Persian? How goes her training?” The question offended the Empress. Sameen was her prize and she didn’t not feel the need to be question by the wife of a common lanista no matter how famous the house he hailed. Yet she was a Roman, Empress to the people she must remain beyond reproach otherwise Lucius will return…“Her training goes well. I leave those matters to my Doctore. Perhaps it’s best you ask him.” Rousseau smiles, it is false as are all exchanges with her. 

 

“Wonderful Empress, we simply cannot wait for her talents to be displayed later.” And with that Rousseau walks away. Leaving the Empress to greet the rest of her guests. The wine flowed in the fountains stationed around the Villa. The dancers enticing all with erotic displays. Food consumed at a rapid pace. The Empress pressed this way and that for conversation about the gossip of Rome. Some gossip about the debts the house of Decimus has acquired. A very intriguing rumor of a prominent senator and her Doctore. She merely smiled. She wanted to speak with Sameen in a quiet place. She ordered Doctore to bring her to her chambers and had him wait outside with the Roman Elite. He insisted she not be left alone with the Persian but she was the Empress and they obeyed her will.

 

“What do you think of the Bacchanalia?” she inquired. Upon closer inspection she can see the image of twin serpents on Sameen’s armor. Her crest, hers…

 

“Lots of people, lots of talking. I like the quiet.” It was low and throaty the way Sameen answered. Her eyes burning into the soul of the Empress. 

 

“I agree, come closer. I would have your lips upon me.” The Empress snapped her fingers and Sameen obeyed walking closer to her step by step. Her vision clouded by want, she took in the black silk robes the Empress wore. Bare shoulders, bracelets upon her slender arms. Her leather sandals crossing high along her calves. This was the moment. 

 

They kissed and it was violent. Teeth and dominance, tongue and submission. Once Sameen gave in, once she felt the Empress press impossibly close, that’s when the kiss became softer, much more languid. They kissed for the longest time, the Empress running her fingers through Sameen’s braided hair. She marveled at the silken feel of her hair which too was oiled and scented. Sameen needed more and her hands fell upon the Empress. Her hands traveled the softness of her thighs gaining entrance into her sex. She pushed the Empress further back against a wall, the silken feel of her folds against her fingertips caused an ache in her belly, she wanted this woman to the point of madness, and now she had her. She just rested her head against her breasts and moved with purpose inside her. The Empress shocked at the feeling of having the Persian inside her, she smiled wicked with delight as her strong calloused fingers drove her to brink of shattering. She wrapped her legs around Sameen’s waist, this position caused Sameen to drive deeper into her sex. Her hips moved of their own, the Empress powerless, her eyes watching Sameen, taking in her lips, and her teeth and her eyes.

 

“Kiss me…I need…I need…” The soft gasps along her mouth as she leaned in and kissed the Empress. At the feel of her tongue in her mouth again. Sameen slammed harder into the Empress, something so primal being unleashed by the brush of her tongue. The Empress laughed in delight as she clenched around Sameen’s fingers. Shattered light behind her eyes, blurred vison, loss of self and breath. 

 

“By the gods! You fuck… like you mean it….” She laughs. Hearty and low. They slide down the wall some and Sameen gently lays the Empress down on the marble floor. It’s cool against Samantha's back. And she finally feels like Samantha and not the Empress of the Roman Empire. Sameen kneels in between her legs still feeling the small pulses of desire die out inside her. She leans down and kisses her. Her kisses slow and with feeling she can never express with words. But the kisses speak of her heart and how it beats for the first time in a long time. She kisses the jaw of the Empress, her throat her breasts, anything she can get her mouth on. The Empress pulls her down upon her, they lay body to body. Doctore clears his throat upon entering her chambers. He refuses to look down and see what is happening. But he heard it all. Lots of people did. The Empress is very vocal.

 

“Apologies Empress but it’s time for the exhibition. The Persian is required for presentation.” Doctore notes that the flowers in the chambers smell sweet, that the newly painted walls now shine with brightness, that the Empress has never been rendered so speechless when bedding her husband, or the other slaves that catch her eyes. This Persian has rendered her senseless and this was a danger. Others will watch, they will judge. Rome is a harsh place. He hopes she is strong enough to survive this. 

 

“Go. I will be there soon. Make sure she eats before. Feed her well. I…I love…watching her eat…” Sameen has the look of a puppy being taken away from its master. It makes Samantha’s heart break just a little to see her go. She laughs a little to herself as she stares up at the ceiling. It was she who begged, she who ordered…it was just supposed to be a kiss…she touched her lips they felt like they were burning from the loss of Sameen’s mouth. She touched her sex, and she gasped. The echo of feeling in her so deep inside still turning…

 

*

 

Meanwhile in Chicago. Shaw woke up from the simulation. She felt empty inside.


End file.
